The Other Side
by darkchop sandwich
Summary: Takes place after Voldemort's failed attempt on baby Harry's life. Based on a fanart piece titled Death at acciobrain. fanart100 pieces. Written because no one ever sees the other side.


He dove to the side, barely dodging the yellow bolt intended for him. But the resulting explosion still sent him flying. He felt the sickening, soft thud of his head hitting the pavement. He twisted around to his hands and knees, shaking his head to try and straighten out his bearings. He still had his wand. Good. Another yellow bolt found its way over to him. This time he flung himself under a nearby car to avoid the concussive blast. _'I'm useless like this,'_ he thought. _'My brain feels like scrambled... scrambled... damn! What are they? I can hardly think of my own name, much less a useful attack. Never mind how I'm going to get myself out of here!'_ As he lay beneath the car, trying to collect himself, he saw another figure take a blast. As the body hit the ground, he saw its face. At the sight of his sister-in-law lying unconscious on the pavement, he thought of his wife, and their infant son, waiting for him... his head came back together in an instant. He rolled out on the other side of the car and peered over the hood. The aurors were already binding Bella magically, and physically as well. He couldn't save her. He heard a moan behind him and whirled about, his wand drawn. It was another wounded in a black robe. Walden was bleeding heavily from a gash on his arm, so weak that he was unable to stand. It was unnerving to see such a big, strong, aggressive man in that state. He bent down, wrapping Walden's good arm around his own shoulders, pulling him to his feet. _'Hang on, old friend. I won't leave you, just hang on.'_ He was exhausted. The chase and ensuing battle had sapped him entirely. But he thought of the people they had lost today, to death or capture, of the loss for all of them, and his anger pulsed. One last surge of adrenaline and force of will was just enough. With a pop the two men vanished.

She rose yet again from her chair to the window overlooking the dark, London street. She could see nothing in the unnatural glow of those damn muggle streetlamps. There was no one out on the street, but who would be at this hour? A car was approaching, and she quickly retreated into the shadows of the room. _'Silly,'_ she thought, _'the aurors wouldn't be coming in a car.'_ Sure enough, the car passed and continued on its way. She laid another log on the dying fire and prod it gently back to life. She wouldn't allow the house elves in, not on nights like these.

It certainly wasn't the first time they'd had to come to the city for her husband's "work", yet somehow she knew from the moment they arrived that this time, it was different. Instead of being pleasantly focused as he usually was, he had been rather grim, and had barely spent any time in the townhouse at all. And he had never been gone this long before. She pulled her blanket tighter around her shoulders, trying to fight off the mounting fear that was tying her stomach in knots. Simple words and a flash of green was all it took to keep him from ever...

Something rustled in the corner of the room. She forgot herself entirely and rushed over. He was still asleep, but one of his tiny feet was peeking out from under his blanket. Despite all of her anxiety and fear, her face softened as she gazed at his tiny ears, his tiny nose, his tiny, curled eyelashes, and all five of his tiny, perfect, escape-minded toes. She reached into his crib and gently tucked his blanket back in around his foot, but still, he slept. She brushed his golden white hair off his face. _'It's just like his father's hair... Stop it!'_ She had to stop this pointless worrying. They sky was beginning to lighten. She had to get some sleep. She crossed to the door, opened it just a bit, and called for a house elf. She asked for a glass of red wine. That would certainly help her sleep. She returned to her chair and stared off at nothing in particular. The elf returned with the wine and the morning's _Daily Prophet_.

As the elf left, she picked up the glass of wine, leaving the paper curled ominously on the table. She couldn't bring herself to touch it. Where was he? Finally, as she drained the last of her wine, she couldn't take it any more. She picked up the paper. Slowly and deliberately, she unfolded it to the front page. "DEATH EATER ATTACK! Dozens Dead On Both Sides" the headline blared. She threw down the paper and, burying her head in her hands, struggled to stifle the scream growing in her throat. She pulled her knees up to her chest, and pulled the blanket back around her, sobbing silently. _'I'm not a widow, I'm not,'_ she told herself.

He took Walden to the only place he knew was safe. Severus lived alone and was often a special contact during their work. Severus brought them inside quickly, knowing something had gone very wrong. They were supposed to return home if all went well. He laid Walden down on the couch. Walden did not look good. Severus knelt down, whispering a few words. Walden's breathing became less labored and his color improved. Severus looked up at him and nodded. Walden would be alright here. He nodded back to Severus and disappeared yet again, this time, finally, heading home.

He reappeared in the foyer of the London townhouse. A house elf skittered up to him, but he waved it off, making his way slowly up the stairs. He didn't want to be the one to tell her. His long strides took him quickly down the hallway, however, past the expensive artwork hanging on the walls that he never looked at anyway. His hand reached for the door knob, but he hesitated. He was a mess, but it didn't really matter right now. He didn't know how to tell her what she didn't want to hear, but still had to know. He turned the knob gently and gave the door a push.

She was asleep in her chair in front of a dying fire. He finally removed his mask as he lovingly watched his wife sleep. She was curled up in the chair, under a blanket, the way she used to fall asleep studying when they were still in school. He face looked serene and peaceful, as beautiful as ever. _'She's so perfect now. And I have to tell her that I failed her. I failed.'_ He knelt down and just looked at her.

She opened her eyes and there he was, like a present on Christmas morning. She launched herself into his arms and buried her face in his shoulder. She didn't want him to see her crying. Her arms pulled him close and her fingers grasped frantically at his robes. His arms wrapped around her in suit, and he laid is head against hers, breathing her in like oxygen. His robes were covered in dirt and blood, but neither of them seemed to notice. They clung to each other as if the moment they let go, they would wake up, and it was a dream. "I'm fine," he whispered. He loosened his grip, and placing a hand gently on her chin, turned her face up to kiss him. He could taster her tears, and even they were beautiful. They both let go a bit more, and she grasped his hand. Her eyes asked him the question he didn't want to answer. He closed his eyes and shook his head. She felt her knees give way, and fresh tears started to fall. Prison. It meant prison. Her sister, her Bella, was gone.


End file.
